


Empty

by ultharkitty



Category: Transformers: Shattered Glass
Genre: Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-29
Updated: 2011-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-28 11:14:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/307288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultharkitty/pseuds/ultharkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blades isn’t sure what’s happened to Streetwise, but whatever it is, it can’t be good.</p><p>Contains: slash, a little rough flirtation, medical experimentation, drugs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empty

"I think you broke him." Blades slouched by the door, fingering a bottle of frag-knew-what. It was green and oily with little rusty flecks.

First Aid leaned over Streetwise, the smaller mech lying prone on a worktable in the centre of the room. "Put that back," he snapped. "And throw me a half-unit sensor block."

Blades lay the vial back on the worktop - carefully, just in case it leaked and started eating through his fingers - and glanced around for a sensor block. He only had the vaguest idea what he was looking for.

"Top cupboard on the right." First Aid vented hard. "C'mon, hurry up."

Blades didn't see the point. Streetwise wasn't registering a pain response, so why did he need a sensor block? For all Blades could tell, he wasn't registering anything at all, and there was nothing coming through the bond.

"Fraggit, _now!_ " First Aid snarled.

Blades huffed and tugged a likely looking box out of the cupboard. He slammed it down on his team mate's tool tray.

"There,” Blades snapped. “You want some high grade to go with that? Or maybe I could fix you up with a couple of little Cassetticon slaves." Blades hefted himself onto a table, his legs dangling. "I could get 'em some collars and a little chain and stuff."

First Aid glared. "Shut. The. Frag. Up. And hold this."

Blades stuck out his hands without thinking, and was rewarded with a chunk of First Aid's armour. A nice hefty bit off the side. Well, that explained where the sensor block was going. He peered around, trying to catch a glimpse of the poisoner’s ember.

"Pervert," First Aid said, as the block clicked into place. He sighed, his visor flaring, and snatched the armour back. "Stop looking at me like that. And I didn't break Streetwise."

"Yeah?" Blades leaned forward and snapped his fingers over Streetwise's face. There was no response. "Then why're the lights all on but nobody's home?"

First Aid shrugged. "Fragged if I know," he said, but he refused to meet Blades' optics. He repositioned his armour, his internals whirring as it re-attached.

"Sure, you got _no_ idea." Blades hopped down from the table and began poking around. "That's what you're gonna tell Hot Spot, right?" He picked up one bottle, then another, their contents sloshing; there was no telling what they contained. "Let me get this right. You got no idea what happened to _our_ mech while he was on _your_ table in _your_ lab under _your_ care. Right?"

First Aid tutted. "I'll tell him what he needs to hear."

"Why the slag do you never label anything?"

"Don't need to," First Aid said. "All right, Streetwise, up."

There was a clatter behind him and Blades almost shot out of his armour. He spun around, a canister of something warm and glowing gripped a little too tightly in his hand. The bond still registered nothing from Streetwise - exactly what it would if he was in stasis lock - and yet the mech had just sat up.

"Hey," Blades said. He put the canister down and forced himself to clap Streetwise on the arm. "Hey, you OK there?" He'd better be; one more hunt when they couldn't form Defensor, and Optimus would dump the lot of them in the smelter.

But Streetwise didn't respond.

"Get the slag out of here," First Aid said. "Go on, frag off."

Blades snarled and headed for the door, but First Aid grabbed him by the rotor hub. "Not you, scrap head."

It was only the sight of Streetwise carefully picking his way through the jumble of worktables and stacks of boxes that stopped Blades from tearing First Aid's arms off. Fragging grounders, they always had been a problem. Their experimental medic more than most.

"He'll be fine," First Aid said, as Streetwise quietly exited the room. "He's just got a few things to, y'know, _process_." The touch on Blades' rotors changed, moving from harsh to soft in an instant. Maybe 'problem' wasn't quite the right word.

"Oh has he?" Blades said. He got the urge to bend over the table, let his partner do whatever he wanted to. But this was the lab, the last place he wanted to be when he couldn't see First Aid's hands. He shoved the junk aside, clearing a space on the surface large enough for the grounder's aft. "Get up there," he said.

For a moment, he thought First Aid would protest, but the sensor block seemed to have mellowed him; Blades didn't want to think what was running through his systems.

"You're not gonna lift me?" First Aid whined. His mask slid back, revealing a lop-sided grin. That was more like it. Blades could cope with an unbalanced, half-cut team mate, but one that snapped and yelled and tried to haul him around by his rotors? That wouldn't get his engine going.

Reaching behind himself, he snatched First Aid's arm and flung him around, backing him up against the table. "You gonna behave?" he said. A tiny, shining object fell from First Aid's fingers. Blades kicked it under a crate. "No yelling," he growled. "No sticking me with scrap unless I know what's in it, no throwing your weight around. You got that?"

First Aid held up his hands, uncurling his fingers to show that his palms were, for once, empty. Then he edged forward, pressing himself against his team mate; his armour was scorching. "What do I get in return?"

Blades squeezed his shoulder tires, then swung him up onto the worktop. He scraped his fingers along the edge of First Aid’s interface panel. "Open up, and you'll find out."


End file.
